


The Woman from U.N.C.L.E.

by Trabi



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Character Study, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-20 11:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trabi/pseuds/Trabi
Summary: A fic about Alexander Waverly and his favorite agent, Gaby Teller.





	The Woman from U.N.C.L.E.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rose_griffes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_griffes/gifts).



> Happy Holidays Rose_Griffes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic about your fav, Gaby Teller. I loved your prompt and it was the perfect opportunity to explore more of Gaby and Waverly's relationship (something we don't see enough of in this fandom!) Also, some heavy-handed gallya for good measure ;)

London, 1961

"She's just a girl," Deputy Director Harlon scoffed as he flipped through the dossier of the missing rocket scientist's daughter. "Not even 25. No education, no training whatsoever. Seems like she is nothing short of a waste of time." He drew on his cigarette, considering. "Pretty thing, though," he amended. 

Alexander Waverly looked again at the photo of Gabriella Teller in the file in front of him and saw past her charming features, recognizing the steely reserve of a survivor underneath. 

"She grew up in post-war Berlin," he informed his colleagues, "that alone is a better test of fortitude than most of our boys receive in training." Some of the officers nodded in agreement while most looked on in disinterest. "Might I remind you she is also the only child of one of the most brilliant rocket scientists of our age."

"But raised by a, what was is?" Waverly's superior shuffled through Teller's biographical details again. "Factory worker?"

"Mechanic, actually."

"Well then, maybe after all the bother of recruiting her she can rotate your tires Alexander," Harlon smiled, the men around the table laughing in unison. "Doesn't seem like she'll be much use for anything else." 

"Call it a hunch but I think she'll have what it takes."

His superior raised his brows in doubt, flipping the dossier shut. "If you feel she's worth your time and trouble, see what you can get out of her. The sooner we find her father, the better."

Waverly smiled politely in triumph. 

"But if you decide to extract her," he warned Waverly, "don't make a mess of it."

___

East Berlin, 1961

Recruiting an asset could sometimes be a simple affair. Money. Freedom. The otherwise unobtainable _something_ was always there to soothe suspicions and fears for personal safety. Nearly every person could be bought, for the right price.

Nearly, every person.

Waverly quickly found that he had nothing to offer Gabriella Teller that she couldn't get herself. 

His initial contact with her, deep in the recesses of her auto shop, didn't exactly go as swimmingly as he had planned. His normal routine was getting him nowhere with Gaby's impenetrable wall of defenses. 

"It would be a chance to see your father again," he tried. "Once we have him back, of course."

The German woman scoffed with caustic amusement, pacing the small confines of the shop's office, periodically peeking through the window to confirm they were still alone. "What makes you think I would want to see him? Even if he were standing right outside this door? He can stay lost for all I care."

Waverly wasn't taken aback by her unapologetic apathy. It was understandable, considering her circumstances. 

"Then consider this your chance to escape," he implored. "When we have all the intel we need to find your father and once your presence here is no longer needed-"

"You think I couldn't get west if I really wanted to?" she shot back. "I'm one person, not an entire family. I know people. I could find a way." 

Waverly must have looked unconvinced because she continued in a considering tone.

"Sure, I could get caught and be arrested," she mused. "Maybe I'd be really unlucky and get shot. But your offer of 'freedom'...I'm sure someone in your position knows what happens to people suspected of working for the enemy over here. I'd rather be shot in the death strip."

She walked to the office's door and opened it. "Please leave before anyone sees you. You have nothing for me."

Waverly drew a deep breath and made one last attempt to win Gaby Teller over. A tactic that rarely worked for other potential assets; speaking the truth. 

"Gabriella, your father has a wealth of knowledge and experience in making the most advanced nuclear weapons known to date. Anyone with access to his research and with a malicious intent has the potential to destabilize the world."

Gaby hesitated at the door and Waverly continued.

"Unlike many, I believe the Americans and the Soviets will keep each other in check," he admitted before warning, "but add in a third, unpredictable adversary...we have no way of knowing how the scale will tip. We may be looking at another war, much worse than the last one."

Waverly knew Gaby was fully aware of the horrors of war. She likely saw worse than what he had experienced; and he had seen his fair share. Much like him, he knew Gaby had no desire to see more. 

She watched him for a moment, gauging his sincerity.

"I can't promise anyone will come looking for me," she said eventually. "I can't even promise he even remembers I'm over here."

"I know," Waverly said, feeling elated that the tides were slowly shifting with her. "But we can't let them slip past us if they do."

"I will wait here," she accepted before adding, "but when you find him- with or without my involvement -you're getting me over that wall," Gaby said almost as a challenge. She knew what she was risking simply by agreeing to communicate with him. She wasn't going to be left behind, high and dry, if her father reappeared.

Waverly had no intention of abandoning her, even if that is all she had come to expect of men like him.

"You have my word," he promised. "And when this affair with your father is over, there will be a place for you at the service, if you want it."

"Let's wait and see if we ever get to that point," she said dryly.

___

West Berlin, 1963

Alexander Waverly stood at a payphone in Tempelhof airport departures, watching as a taxi pulled up and Gaby Teller exited delicately on heeled feet while the Russian agent helped the taxi man remove their luggage from the boot.

She was nearly unrecognizable. Gaby wore her costly outfit as though she had spent her entire life donned in haute couture. No one would believe such a woman had ever seen the inside of a car, much less work with them for a living. Her aristocratic roots resurfaced under a Dior coat and Oliver Goldsmith sunglasses, ozzing blue blood as well as any well-bred lady he had ever seen in Mayfair. 

The pair entered the terminal, making their way to the ticketing desk. Gaby looked remote, bored. A woman who was used to air travel and not an untried spy entering into her first real mission with an opposing agency operative at her side. 

Waverly needed to let her know that he was on to the KGB and the CIA, that he still had everything under control and she could trust him to guide her. He confirmed with the nonexistent caller on the other end of the line and jotted down a note on a small piece of paper. 

While the Russian dealt with the ticket agent Gaby removed her sunglasses and glanced about, her eyes only hinting at the overwhelming stakes of her current predicament. 

Waverly willed her to look at him. 

Her eyes scanned the terminal, fell on him for the briefest of moments and continued on. She touched the arm of her companion, murmured something and began walking away. The Russian glanced over his shoulder at her before returning his attention to their luggage. 

Gaby weaved through the crowds in the busy terminal. Waverly set down the phone held to his ear and started toward the ticketing desk. 

In the mix of passengers and crew flowing about them Waverly brushed past Gaby, the slip of paper in his palm transferring smoothly into her own, undetectable. She continued onto the ladies and Waverly went to his gate. 

_Grand Hotel Plaza. Room 515. Chin up,_ his note had read. He trusted her to memorize the number and dispose of the note immediately. He also trusted her to contact him when needed. 

Things weren't exactly going to plan but he knew Gaby had the capabilities to adjust to the situation, even if that situation meant leaving her home for the first time and duping two of the best spies in the game. If she could pull this off she could do anything.

___

Rome, 1963

There was a knock at Waverly's hotel room door. He walked over to let Gaby in. She had a graze on her shoulder but otherwise she looked unscathed after the Vinciguerra affair. 

"Well done again Agent Teller," he said. 

"Thank you, sir."

"I trust you are holding up well?" he asked. She had lost her father a mere hours before but he knew she had been prepared for the worst going into the mission. 

"Of course, sir," she responded in her normal cool reserve. That was one of the reasons she made such a fantastic spy, he thought. She wasn't one to let sentimentality bog her down.

He invited her to sit across from him on the sofa.

"How did you find working with Agents Kuryakin and Solo?"

Gaby blinked in confusion. Surely her opinion on them shouldn't matter now that the mission was over but she also didn't know what he had in store.

"They suited the needs of the mission. Eventually."

"Once their egos were in check?" he guessed.

She rewarded him with a rare, small smile. "Yes."

"Do you trust them?"

Gaby narrowed her eyes again, perplexed by his questions. "I do," she responded slowly.

"Including Agent Kuryakin?"

Waverly knew working with the KGB would be the hardest pill for Gaby to swallow. Her history meant she had very little reason to trust a Soviet, much less one involved in the secret police. 

He had not missed the way Kuryakin had behaved toward her after her foiled abduction. Waverly couldn't be sure whether Gaby reciprocated his affection. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted her to, but it was important for him to know she trusted the man. 

"Yes, I trust him," she said after a moment.

Waverly smiled in satisfaction. "Excellent," he said, rising to his feet again. "In that case I'll need you to join me upstairs with the other two. There have been some developments that mean you will seeing much more of each other in the coming months."

Gaby gaped after him in open bewilderment. 

"Come along Teller," he said. "You don't want to keep your partners waiting."

___

Gibraltar, 1965

"How is she?" Waverly asked, walking swiftly alongside Solo up the hospital corridor. 

"Better than she was," Napoleon said in relief. "Stable. She'll pull through."

"Thank God for that," Waverly sighed. 

They stopped outside Gaby's hospital room.

"I'll wait here," Napoleon said.

Inside Gaby was obscured by the wide shoulders of Illya Kuryakin, who sat closely beside her bed. He turned when Waverly entered. 

"Kuryakin," Waverly acknowledged. 

"Sir," he responded, moving aside to let Gaby see their superior.

Her left eye was swollen shut, the rest of her face nearly obscured by the bandages and nose splint. He had heard the details of her viscous beating, of course, but it was quite another thing entirely to see the damage in person. 

"It's not as bad as it looks," she croaked, attempting to sit up in her bed. Illya murmured a soft reprimand and encouraged her to lay back down. 

Waverly approached and saw further bruises on her arms, her skinned knuckles. He knew the worst injuries had been internal and had nearly cost her her life. It was nothing short of a miracle she was still conscious. 

"Kuryakin, would you give us a moment please?" Waverly requested. 

Illya nodded and stood to relinquish his seat. He gently squeezed Gaby's shoulder and she briefly laid her hand over his. Waverly sat in the vacated chair once Illya had joined Napoleon in the hall, shutting the door behind him. 

"He thinks it's his fault," Gaby said ruefully. "Says he shouldn't have ever let me out of his sight." She emitted a dry little laugh. "I think he forgets how espionage works sometimes."

So had he. Waverly always knew he put his agents in imminent danger whenever he sent them out on missions but he forgot until now the cold reality of the nature of their work. Agents don't always return in one piece. Sometimes they never return at all. 

"The doctor says I'll be well enough to be back in the field in three months, maybe less," she said, putting on a brave face. 

Waverly felt a wave of near sickness at the thought of her returning to the field so soon. Or ever, if he were being anywhere near honest with himself. It didn't have to happen. There were alternatives. 

"Gaby," Waverly said carefully, "there's more to the network than just fieldwork. _Vital_ work is done that doesn't require such risks, where one could-" 

Gaby's one good eye darkened with annoyance. 

"Would you be saying this if it were Napoleon or Illya in this bed?" Gaby interrupted, her voice surprisingly strong for her condition. "Or any other field agent?"

Waverly stammered, taken aback. "If you are inferring that I think you are less capable because of your sex then I-"

"No, I don't believe you think that," Gaby said softly. "But it's no secret that you treat me differently than the other agents." 

She was right, of course. He oftentimes let his almost paternal penchant toward her overshadow his better judgement as a superior and spy master. He couldn't protect her at every turn and still let her be the brilliant agent she was born to be. His boundaries with her were forever shifting, and not always for the better.

"You can't have favorites, Alex," she warned. "Not in our work."

He couldn't, he knew it was true, but he was also afraid it was too late.

"I'm staying in the field," she said firmly, then, switching back into the role of agent, she acquiesced, "so long as you permit it."

Her one eye searched his face, daring him to refuse her. If he did, she wouldn't settle for any alternatives he could offer. He would lose her for good, and he couldn't let that happen.

"When you are in fighting form again," he confirmed, forcing a smile.

___

London, 1968

Waverly flicked the switch and the hallway illuminated with buzzing brightness from above. Clean lines ran down the impeccably polished, white lament floors of the office's main drag. 

It still smelled of fresh paint and optimism; a far cry from the stuffy, cramped offices the agency had called HQ the past five years. 

"Think it will make the cut?" Waverly asked.

Gaby scoffed with amusement. "I want to be here first thing Monday morning to see everyone's faces! We're finally in the 20th century." 

Waverly led Gaby on a tour through UNCLE's new and much improved headquarters. She popped her head into every office and work space, humming with approval. The furniture was no longer a lingering hangover from the war years. It was light, practical and contemporary. Colorful even. Fitting for an agency full of young people from across the globe, working in a new and exciting era. 

"Can't say I'll miss all those old tanker desks," she said with a impressed smile, "or the smell of cigar smoke from thirty years ago."

The new surroundings suited her. Barely 30, in a short corduroy skirt and tall leather boots, she could easily be mistaken for one of the musician's muses or fashion models that prowled the neighborhoods of swinging London. It was her feminine appearance that made it so easy for adversaries and allies both to underestimate her so frequently. It usually didn't take them long to realize their mistake. Gaby had long since proven to be one of the most competent agents he ever had the honor of working with. 

After viewing his unnecessarily lavish new director's office, Waverly took Gaby immediately next door to the neighboring corner office. Not nearly as large as his own but still clearly the space for someone very important.

Gaby walked to the window to look down at the dark, rain slick streets of London, several stories below.

"Very nice, who will go in here? Edwards or-"

"You," Waverly said with conviction. 

"Me?" Gaby scoffed in disbelief. "But I'm only an intelligence agent. I've always had to share an office."

"This office will belong to the Director of Intelligence Operations, a position I was hoping you'd accept."

Gaby blinked in disbelief, surveying her surroundings again. "Surely there's people with plenty more experience-"

"But nobody I would trust nearly as much," Waverly countered. "You're young, but so is the agency. I need someone who I know is committed to our mission and won't sour the role with former biases and allegiances."

At her uncertain look he added, "You're ready Gaby."

She shook her head. "I don't know what to say."

"Say 'yes'," he smiled, encouraging. 

Gaby brushed her hand over the desk, slowly circled it and tentatively sat in the chair behind. 

"It suits you," he said and she smiled in return.

___

London, 1970

Waverly had been off-the-grid for nearly a week. No messages in, no messages out. Everything had needed to be conducted under complete secrecy. Upon returning to London and HQ he invited Gaby-and only Gaby-to his office for a debrief. 

She arrived, looking relieved to see him but also completely exhausted and sick with worry. It had been a long four months for them all, but her especially. She had the most to lose.

"Welcome back," she said cautiously, taking a seat. 

He nodded and leaned against his desk. "I have some news."

Gaby scooted further toward the edge of her chair, mentally preparing herself for whatever he had to tell her. 

"They've agreed to the terms I've laid out and they'll allow him to return."

Gaby's features relaxed with relief but her eyes still looked at him with open concern. "For how long this time?"

"For good," Waverly said, trying and failing to keep a smile from forming on his face.

Gaby nodded, bit her lower lip and looked down at her hands in her lap. "That's good," her voice broke. "I'm glad. We need him." When she looked up again she blinked a bit too hard and a tear rolled down her cheek, quickly followed by another. 

"Thank you," she swallowed, "I..." When words failed her she stood and all but ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his collar. 

Waverly stood stunned for a moment, but then wrapped his arms around her in turn as she murmured broken _danke schöns_ and _thank yous_ against him, her shoulders shaking.

Gaby eventually pulled away, wiping under her eyes with the tips of her fingers. Waverly removed his pocket square and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said again, then touched his collar where her eye makeup had stained the starched cotton. "Sorry," she apologized with a broken laugh.

"Collateral damage, my dear," he smiled. 

She laughed again, looking up and dabbing at her eyes to will them to stop watering. "We should tell the others," she said, collecting herself. "They'll want to know that Illya is coming back."

"And that he's here to stay," Waverly reiterated, watching Gaby's unbridled joy as she smiled through her tears.

___

London, 1979

"I'll make the announcement on Monday but, of course, I wanted you to be the first to know."

Waverly and Gaby lazily strolled the park on a crisp Saturday afternoon, circling the local playground again and again. He had hoped the calm of their walk and the carefree air of the park would ease the news of his impending retirement, but Gaby's brow was furrowed with concern.

"I guess I knew this was coming," she sighed. "I just don't know what we'll do without you."

"I have every faith UNCLE its good work even without me at the helm," Waverly consoled. UNCLE was his brainchild and an unlikely success that he fully expected to continue even after he stepped down. He had been carefully planning his handover for years after all. He just needed to hear that she was ready.

"They won't take me seriously, you know that," Gaby replied doubtfully.

"No, they won't," Waverly agreed, "but they never took me seriously either. Yet here we are, nearly twenty years on."

Gaby mulled over his words, still looking unconvinced. It was no secret that Waverly had selected Gaby as his successor years before. He had been preparing her for directorship ever since she had retired from fieldwork . Despite his careful mentoring, she still had her doubts about standing up to the powers that be. 

"Let them underestimate you," Waverly advised in a quiet tone. "You'll run circles around all of them; the Yanks, the Circus, the KGB...although I'd daresay you've infiltrated them well enough already."

Gaby shook her head in amusement, still managing to watch the children in the playground with hawk-eyed attention. A young blonde haired boy began to stray down the path, prompting Gaby to halt their walk. 

"Alex!" she called. "Don't wander off." 

The boy skittered to a stop and ran back toward the playground, full of boundless energy.

"You have every reason to want to keep the world at peace," Waverly said, watching the boy. "From the very beginning I saw that in you. I wouldn't entrust this position with anyone else."

Gaby peeled her eyes away from the children. "I'll leave it to you to make the announcement to our dear _friends_ in the intelligence community," she said with a wry grin.

Waverly nodded in agreement, pleased. "I frankly look forward to hearing all about the new thorn in their side; the woman from UNCLE. A new code name for you maybe? I think it's a rather good one."


End file.
